


The Jylland Jump

by LooNEY_DAC



Series: LooNEY_DAC's SSSS AUs [4]
Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Alternate Universe - Jazz Age, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-09-02 10:13:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8663560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LooNEY_DAC/pseuds/LooNEY_DAC
Summary: The SSSS crew as a 1930s Jazz Band in Sweden.





	1. Band Aid

Malmö, Sweden  
1936

The life of a house musician, especially a jazz musician, is full of ups and downs. Sure, you’ve got a steady gig, but you’re always waiting for the one thing that’ll spell the end of it, be it a bad, long cold, a sprained wrist... or a bouncy redhead eager to join his first “real” band.

Emil Västerström, sole woodwind for the “Malmö Musikers” (OK, not the best name, but not the worst, either), house band for Andersen’s Joint (again, not the worst name Emil had seen), eyed the newbie chattering at their leader, the inimitable Sigrun Eide, uneasily as the rest of the gang got ready for the first set of the night. This was just the sort of thing Emil worried about, not that he’d admit that to anyone else. Five times now, Emil had been bounced from a promising gig after some hot new talent had shown up, and Emil would much rather that it didn’t happen again.

The twelve _other_ times he’d been let go from a nice gig, Emil discounted, as those had been over silly little things like suspected (or not so suspected) arson. Emil was much more careful about that kind of thing now, and besides, that had been up in the Frozen North of Östersund, far enough away that it hadn’t followed--and wouldn’t follow--Emil here.

Lalli Hotakainen, their pit man, looked up as Emil walked over to give him a hand, then shrugged and dropped his eyes back to the marimba he was trying to shift. Lalli tended not to worry about these kind of things, preferring to focus on the problem at hand rather than one that was merely potential, and he tended not to talk very much in any case, but he could see that something about the newbie’s arrival was troubling his friend, so he began to consider ways of improving Emil’s mood (maybe a secret beach bonfire?) while they reorganized the pit.

Behind them, Lalli’s cousin Tuuri Hotakainen was readjusting her drum set. She’d been terribly tempted to try a few riffs out right as the boys were at the most delicate part of moving the vibraphone into place, but in the end, she hadn’t. It wasn’t easy to get Lalli mad at her, but when it happened, it was never good. Emil was safe enough, though, so she twitted him every now and again, usually about something he thought he was an expert on but knew nothing about.

Mikkel Madsen, the second brass player, moved into her field of view as he patiently arranged and rearranged the selection of horns in accordance with Sigrun’s ever-changing notions of what they’d be playing and when. You had to watch out for Mikkel, despite his serene appearance, or you’d fall victim to one of his near-legendary pranks.

“Guys!” Sigrun waved as she called to them, signing that they should get over where she was _on the double_. The gangly redhead stood by her side, grinning goofily.

When they were all there, Sigrun announced proudly, “Guys, this is our new bull fiddle player, Reynir. He’s new to town--came here all the way from some little sheep farm in Iceland! Everybody, introduce yourselves, and Mikkel, show him where to set up for tonight. This is gonna be great!”

Emil slowly released the breath he’d been holding. OK. Not a new woodwind.

Actually, Sigrun had been talking about trying to find a good bassist for some time, so this shouldn’t have been such a surprise. Leave it to Sigrun to clamp on to some guy fresh off the boat.

After a few preliminary tuning plucks, Reynir started out with a really magnificent bass riff, interrupting Emil’s thoughts. Well, well, well. It seemed the kid could play. With any luck, he could play _with the group_ as well, but they’d find that out tonight.


	2. Command Performance to a Captive Audience

Emil Västerström kept promising himself as he looked around the room that the next time he saw his Uncle Torbjörn, the older man would be dead. Of course, that would most likely be because Emil himself would be dead shortly, but, on the off chance that Emil lived, he meant to ensure that the uncle who’d dragged both his bandmates and himself into this would _not_ survive.

Emil glanced back at his bandmates guiltily. He should have known the weaselly Torbjörn would sell a bill of goods to anyone chump enough to buy them, family or not. None of them _looked_ as though they blamed him, as yet, but that would probably change fairly soon.

Sigrun looked cool as ever, and Mikkel was as unmoved as was his wont. Tuuri looked confused, like she was unaware of just where they were, and Lalli was alert but calm. Only Reynir looked frightened, which struck Emil as ironic: only the newbie realized what peril they were in.

The goons surrounding them parted to reveal an old man in a spotless white suit. Emil was unsurprised, but both Tuuri and Sigrun actually gasped in recognition. Here was the Big Cheese, not simply of Malmö, but of the Malmöhus län, and maybe all of the Skåne landskap! He was known, simply enough, as “the Boss”.

“I am honored that you acceded to my humble request,” he wheezed, simply oozing false humility. “The audience for whom you shall play awaits you in yonder hall; my men shall bring you thither momentarily.”

None of their audience looked particularly pleased to see them file on stage, but from the first blasts from Sigrun’s trumpet, they were hooked. It tended to be that way: sometimes, projectiles of various sorts greeted their arrival, but never while they actually played.

As he ably went from flute to clarinet and back, Emil wondered just who they were playing for. Most of them looked like a respectable bunch, with a few of the more obviously gangster types sprinkled throughout the crowd. Oh well; he’d probably never know anyway.

They completed their very extended set with alacrity and verve, and were honored with a standing ovation as they packed their instruments back up. Even the Boss looked visibly pleased, his face contorted into a smile of sorts--one that didn’t imply “Now, I’ll kill you all, and that pleases me”.

Everything was going fine... until Torbjörn decided to open his fat, stupid mouth again. Somehow, he managed to offend the entire crowd in one short speech. Quite a large number of guns came out, all pointed at Torbjörn, who vanished with the skill and alacrity of a stage magician. The guns began to swivel towards the band.

...Aaaaaand this would be the time to run. Fortunately, Emil could tell the others were of like mind, as they were keeping up with him to form a little knot of runners ducking and weaving to avoid the belated and badly aimed fusillade from the Boss’ goons.

It took them rather a while to get back to Andersen’s Joint, and in expectation of being raked over the coals by Taru, Trond, and anyone else in their vicinity, they slipped in the back door, only to hear some semi-familiar and unpracticed but not actually bad music from on-stage.

A little old woman was waiting in the shadows, and she told them that six dead ringers for them had come in about an hour before and been dragooned onstage by Taru. “When their break comes, you can swap out with them with no one the wiser.”

Before they could say anything else, the old woman added, “Oh, and you brought a few friends along.”

Sigrun went to the back door and peeked out. Then she swore. “Yep. A few goons are out there, all right.”

“The others will take care of them for you. See you earlier!” And the old woman was gone...


	3. Bing! Bing! Bing!

Downtown Copenhagen was even more bustling than usual today, last-minute shoppers rushing from store to store in more or less panicky efforts to find _just_ the right gift before Christmas. Among them, Emil Västerström moved purposefully towards his goal.

His bandmates might have wondered at his going all the way to Copenhagen when Malmö offered so many shops of its own, but all those shops had failed him thus far. He was determined that he would succeed in the end, though, even if he had to go to London or Berlin!

_The flophouse they were all rooming in had been almost empty when Emil found Lalli sneaking a listen on the big Victrola in the lobby._

_“What’s that you’re listening to, Lalli?” The thin Finn was mostly blocking the phonograph’s speaker with his head, as their landlord had threatened the band more than once about keeping the volume down when they were in._

_Lalli’s eyes were glowing when he replied, simply, “Bing.”_

Ever since that moment, Emil had been working towards his goal: accumulate each and every one of Bing Crosby’s singles from this year into an album for Lalli, and now, only one remained for him to acquire: “Pennies from Heaven”, the single most sought after Bing single of 1936.

Malmö had failed him, but Copenhagen held out more hope; a friend of a friend of a friend of Sigrun’s had yielded up the name of a small, obscure little record store where you could find just about anything--for the right price. Emil was determined to get that single, even if it cost his last öre.

The crowds were almost impenetrable; it took so long to get anywhere that Emil began to worry that he’d miss his ferry, but once he turned down the alleyway that supposedly led to the store, the crowds melted away.

The store smelled more like a bookstore should than the record store it supposedly was, but that didn’t faze Emil. He searched tirelessly through the stacks of records for an eternity or two, until a soft cough at his elbow interrupted him.

“If you please, sir, we will be closing shortly. Is there anything I might help you find?” The speaker was a small, elderly man, either a senior clerk or possibly the shopkeeper himself.

Even after all these months of listening to Mikkel, Emil still heard far too much static whenever he heard Danish. Yet, he understood what the storekeeper was telling him well enough.

“I’m looking for the Bing Crosby single, ‘Pennies from Heaven’, if you would be so kind.” Emil tried to keep his impatience and growing desperation from his voice. After all, the man was simply doing his job.

“A Christmas gift, I see? And perhaps, to complete a set?” The old man nodded perspicaciously.

Emil essayed a sheepish smile. “You see quite well, sir. Does this mean you have a copy?”

“Oh, yes, young man. We have a copy over behind the counter, in fact.” They proceeded thither in silence. The old man reached below and pulled out a cardboard sleeve. “Yes, this is it, but I’m afraid it’s quite dear. So dear, in fact, that once they hear the price, none would buy it.”

Emil’s eyebrows rose. “How much?”

The old man quoted a figure that was just before exhausting Emil’s last öre. Emil swallowed hard, remembering the album with one empty sleeve hidden beneath his bed, and the glow in Lalli’s eyes as the Finn crouched by the phonograph.

“Wrap it up for me,” Emil said, the words running together in his haste to get them out before he could reconsider.

“If I might make a suggestion, sir?” Emil nodded. “Play the B side first.”

Emil nodded blankly again, and left with his precious cargo.

*

Lalli had been most mysterious about their gift exchange, telling Tuuri to tell Emil that he should meet Lalli at their secret firebug spot an hour after dark. Of course, this left Emil with the problem of finding a portable phonograph that played 78s instead of gramophone cylinders that he could bring along, which made him rather late.

When Emil finally arrived, though, he almost dropped what he was carrying. A grinning Lalli stood before a whole array of fireworks of every size and description, and all ready to be shot off over the sea. That, and the expression on Lalli’s face when he looked through the album, made it all worth it.

With his usual uncanny instinct, Lalli pulled out the disc Emil had spent so much to acquire. When he made to put it on the phonograph, though, Emil remembered what the shopkeeper had said.

“Play the B side first, Lalli.” Lalli shrugged, handed Emil the lighter to set to the first fireworks, and deftly set the B side playing.

To the (rather ironic) sound of Bing singing “Silent Night”, the two boys set off the greatest Christmas fireworks display in the history of Malmö.


	4. A Skittery Sax

The noises had only impinged on Emil’s consciousness when he was almost to the band’s “suite”, such as it was, in their Trond-mandated flophouse, but once it had, there was no denying it.

Someone was practicing on a saxophone in the band’s quarters, and in the band’s style of jam.

Emil’s stomach tightened as he listened in the hallway outside their door. The player was pretty good--not as good as Emil, but certainly not bad.

Was this Emil’s replacement in the “Malmö Musikers”?

After a few lifetimes of agonized hesitation, Emil nerved himself up to go in and see who the player was. Best to get it over with; besides, he’d need to pack his sadly few things and be ready to strike out for... wherever he could go this time. Maybe Bergen?

“Mikkel.” Emil didn’t realize that he’d spoken aloud until the big man slowly turned to face him.

After a long silence where Mikkel stared at Emil with a faintly puzzled expression, the Dane finally rumbled, “Well, aren’t you going to join in and make it a proper jam session?” Emil’s look went from shattered to confused. “Didn’t Sigrun send you over so we could see how we jam together? She said she would.”

Emil was just about to faint from relief when a stranger’s voice spoke behind him. “Mind if I join in, too?”

At that, the bedroom door flew open, Tuuri shooting forth like a rocket with a cry of, “ONNI!” Emil managed to dodge in time to avoid being bowled over in the wake of Tuuri’s rush to greet her brother.

Tuuri and Lalli had mentioned this third Hotakainen to their band-mates, of course, so the blocky Finn wasn’t a complete stranger. Nonetheless, Emil and Mikkel were rather more reserved in their greetings.

After a few minutes of Tuuri gushing at Onni, with only grunts of varied tone as responses, Lalli slinked in. Onni made as if to hug his cousin, but a slight backpedal from Lalli cued Onni to simply clasp Lalli’s shoulders instead.

Eventually, once Tuuri was more or less talked out, the newcomer pulled forth a sax from one of his bags, Emil grabbed his own sax, and they joined Mikkel in an impromptu trio, Tuuri and Lalli watching.

Emil was hard-pressed to keep his dismay out of the music after the first few licks. Onni was _fantastic._ It was actually hard for Emil to keep up with the eldest Finn, and more or less impossible for Mikkel.

“Imagine doing that with us tonight, onstage!” Tuuri gushed. “It would be _brilliant,_ Onni!”

Onni’s face went completely blank, and he dropped his sax. A moment later, he was flat on his back in a dead faint.

*

They’d had to blindfold Onni to get him onstage, and instead of an announcement of the band, Taru put up a banner reading, “Blind Onni & the Malmö Musikers”. None of their audience seemed to get the joke--“Blind Luck” playing for them onstage--but they still liked this new guy’s sound.

The evening went very well, Onni only trying to get away twice and throwing up (in the backstage hurl bucket) once. After some of Lalli’s shenanigans, this was positively easy to handle.

Emil was so _torn._ Onni and his sound brought the band up a notch, certainly, and they all sounded great in concert, but there was a fearful, jealous part of Emil that was glad the Finn was so stage-phobic.

Sigrun, nobody’s fool, was trying to smother Onni’s fears and doubts with a flood of enthusiastic words, but Onni stood against her like a stolid Finn rock against a snowstorm.

Tuuri was rather sniffly after Onni left, so Emil knew Lalli would need some distracting as well. Maybe they could work on arranging one of Bing’s songs for the band? Now that Mikkel had been tapped as back-up sax, a lot of possibilities were open...


	5. Well, There Was This One Time...

Emil Västerström looked down at the foreign instrument in his hands and wondered why it was there. Of course, he knew the reason well enough: in light of Mikkel’s success at backing Emil up on woodwinds, Sigrun wanted the rest of them to try switching instruments, which was a reasonable enough idea that Trond had okayed their slipping away for a week to test it out.

Admittedly, _which_ of them got _what_ instrument seemed decidedly random--Lalli in particular was looking at his new bassoon as though it had just come down to him from outer space. In another move Emil dreaded considering the consequences of, Reynir had been given a set of cymbals; Mikkel was trying out a full-sized tuba; Tuuri was ready to wail on her cousin’s xylophone; and Sigrun was going to see if the saxophone could handle her magnificence. This left Emil looking at his euphonium doubtfully. With his luck, its name would prove the height of irony.

There were only three keys to press on this thing; how could anyone finagle a full chromatic scale out of those? Emil looked over at Mikkel, and then at Sigrun. Well, Sigrun probably just _willed_ her trumpet to play the notes she wanted, knowing it would never be so foolish as to refuse, but Mikkel...

“Um, Mikkel...” _Just how do I play this thing?_ Emil’s tongue tried to knot itself inside his mouth, but he managed to say, “I’ve never actually played a brass instrument before, and I...”

“You were, totally understandably, wondering how the fingering works,” Mikkel finished for him. “M’yes. The three valve system is rather counter-intuitive at first to someone used to the simplicity of woodwind fingerings, but once you get it, you’ve got it for any brass instrument.”

The next hour or so passed in a flurry of discourse interspersed with preliminary practicing, until Sigrun stormed up in a huff.

“Emil, go show Twigs how to play his bassoon; I can’t talk to him anymore, or someone’ll get hurt.” A frustrated growl ended her orders.

Emil looked over to where Lalli stood. His friend was practically arching his back and hissing in Sigrun’s direction. Emil sighed and thought to himself, ‘This is why we always need to keep a buffer between Sigrun and Lalli’.

Fortunately, Lalli wasn’t _quite_ worked up badly enough that he would go into one of his near-legendary freak-outs. _Un_ fortunately, Sigrun had also snarled at Tuuri, who was unintentionally working Lalli ever closer to that freak-out when Emil reached them.

It took quite a bit of effort for Emil to disentangle the two cousins, but eventually Lalli allowed himself to be soothed.

“You know, sometimes I think you don’t even know your cousin at all,” Emil told Tuuri in exasperation. “Simply look at him. He _clearly_ just wants to be left alone and in peace for a while.” He turned to Lalli. “Give me the bassoon and go sack out in the bunk-room for a while. I’ll make sure nobody disturbs you.”

*

The week flew by after that, each day bringing surprises both pleasant and unpleasant. Emil slowly worked out how to make his euphonium live up to its name (though he knew he’d never make it wail like he could with a clarinet); Sigrun imposed her will upon the saxophone as readily as she did upon her trumpet; Mikkel managed to take some of Reynir’s bass riffs and make them work on the tuba; Tuuri got pretty good on the pit; Reynir managed not to concuss anyone; and Lalli... still looked at the bassoon as though it had just come down to him from outer space, but he could do some simple licks on it, at least.

All in all, Sigrun and the others were most satisfied with how their little band camp went. “Just remember to keep it up once we’re back in the Joint,” she cautioned. Emil wondered if she’d meant to associate their place of business with being in prison, but decided it was just a Freudian slip.

“OK, let’s just get a group photo before we go.”

The group shot (courtesy **wavewright62** ):


	6. Chasing Emil

Malmö, Sweden  
1946

Emil Västerström looked around Andersen’s Joint, noting how little it seemed to have changed, even through a war that had changed _everything_.

The decor was the same--most of it was probably exactly the same as it had been since the first time Emil had set foot in the Joint, as Old Trond hadn’t been one for such largesse as replacing “perfectly good tables and chairs” before they collapsed completely.

Old Trond himself was never coming back; the War had been his doom indeed. He’d been in the same cell of the Norwegian Resistance as Sigrun and her parents when the Germans took him, and he hadn’t returned, though not for the usual reason. No, the torture hadn’t yet begun when his captors found him dead in his sleep, undoubtedly smiling to himself at having deprived them of their prize.

Sigrun, Mikkel and Reynir had all been part of the Norwegian Resistance, trying to free that country; ironically, for most of the War that had put them on the opposite side from Emil, Taru and the three Hotakainens, who were all trying to keep Finland free.

Poor Taru. In one of the last Russian assaults of 1940, she had been captured, and while the Finn government was still trying to find out where she was and get her back, there was very little hope left for her after six years.

Old Trond had left his share in tandem to his junior partners: Sigrun’s parents and Taru; since Taru was... well, since the Swedish government accepted Onni, Tuuri and Lalli as Taru’s proxy holders, the Hotakainens had had few troubles relocating.

Lalli had been standing behind Emil as all these thoughts chased themselves through Emil’s mind; now, Lalli stepped up beside Emil and gave his friend a shoulder bump. Emil promptly wrapped his arm around Lalli’s shoulder, trying not to let the tears suddenly brimming fall, and Lalli let him, even going so far as to put his own arm on Emil’s shoulder.

Tuuri bustled in then, with some others, but only Tuuri forced herself into their awareness, looping her arm into Lalli’s free elbow.

“I found you an assistant in the pit, Lalli,” Tuuri bubbled. “A nice Finn girl I met through the Refugee Office, and a pretty good xylophonist, to boot.” Ignoring his silence, she continued, “Now, her _name_ is Kerttu, so I don’t want you calling her, ‘Hey, you’, like you did with Georg and Tony!”

“They were _jerks,”_ Lalli protested, letting Tuuri pull him over to the pit after Emil nodded.

“Do you really think it was a good idea to bring him here?” Tuuri asked once they were at the pit. “I mean, he looks like he might be headed for another freak-out.”

“You know, sometimes I think you don’t even know Emil at all,” Lalli told Tuuri in exasperation. “Listen.”

Emil had picked up a clarinet and was beginning to play. As he played and the jazz flowed ever freer, all the horrors and filth of the last seven years were washed away by its happy flood.

“That’s why we needed to bring him here,” Lalli stated, as if he were telling her “Water is wet”.

There was an edge to Emil’s playing now, though; one that reflected what had passed, both good and bad. It was still jazz instead of blues, though: edgy jazz, but jazz nonetheless.

A saxophone joined in, smoothly following in familiar riffs. Emil turned, though he didn’t really need to, and saw Onni behind him, dark sunglasses covering the scars where his eyes had been. Blind Onni, now truly blind, but as magnificent on the sax as ever.

Then two familiar trumpets joined in the burgeoning jam session, weaving their own threads into the musical tapestry, and soon bass, drum kit and pit followed suit. The Malmö Musikers were jamming again.

“OK, guys, let’s take five,” Sigrun ordered when the set drew to a close. A waiter came up with water for them, followed by an eerily young-looking cigarette girl, who smiled saucily at Emil.

“Well,” she said dryly as Emil pored over the selection in her tray, “I never thought I’d get to hear Benny Goodman jamming live in this place.”

Emil snorted. “Benny Goodman’s better than I. I do have better hair, though,” he bantered awkwardly.

After a few minutes more of indecision, the girl pulled out a cigarette and handed it to Emil. “Here you go. Betcha can’t make this sing like your clarinet, though.” She was definitely teasing now.

Emil looked at the cigarette girl warily, even as he took the proffered cigarette. “What’s your name, anyways?”

She smiled again as she lit the cigarette and replied, “Marta Kiianmies.”

“Nice name,” Emil said. This one seemed uncommonly sensible; hopefully, she’d stick around for a while...


	7. Grace Notes and Accidentals

Malmö, Sweden  
1947

Tuuri clenched her teeth as the pompous windbag up at the podium droned on endlessly supposedly in praise of the Swede-Finn Relief Association (while somehow implying that its successes were due to him). She was just about ready to run screaming from The Dinner Party That Time Forgot were it not nearly certain to damage the Association’s standing and her years of hard work on its behalf.

Reynir gave her hand a supportive squeeze. Tuuri smiled back shyly. Also at their table were her best friends Marta and Kerttu (Kerttu herself a success story for the Association), Lalli, and...

Wait, where was Emil?

Suddenly the speaker’s mike cut off, and a familiar song began to play over the speakers.

“You belong to my heart  
Now and forever  
And our love had its start  
Not long ago...”

Oh, no. It was Emil, and he must be _roaring_ drunk to actually be singing like this. Not that it was bad; actually, his singing was much better when he was drunk, because it calmed his incessant self-consciousness.

“We were gathering stars  
While a million guitars  
Played our love song...”

The speaker, now an interesting shade of puce, was being led back to his seat. Fortunately, everyone else in attendance seemed to share Tuuri’s opinion of his speech; at least, no one else seemed too put out by the change in the agenda.

Tuuri peeked at Lalli. As she’d suspected, he was transparently transported by Emil’s rendition of Lalli’s favorite Bing Crosby tune.

“When I said ‘I love you’  
Ev’ry beat of my heart  
Said it too...”

Tuuri had known for _years_ , of course, though they’d never talked about it. While practically all of her friends twitted her about her occasional obliviousness, there was no way Tuuri could have missed what was going on between Lalli and Emil.

“’Twas a moment like this  
Do you remember?  
And your eyes threw a kiss  
When they met mine...”

The two of them had always seemed to be _in tune_ in a way that the other Musikers weren’t; Tuuri tended to get a teensy bit jealous when she thought about it. For some reason, her eyes flicked over to Reynir and away as he glanced back.

“Now we own all the stars  
And a million guitars  
Are still playing...”

Seriously, why else would Emil risk life and limb against the Soviets but for the fact that he was fighting alongside Lalli?

“Darling you are the song  
And you’ll always belong  
To my heart!”

The marimba interlude began, along with a light smattering of applause. Tuuri was terribly shocked to realize that she had snuggled up against Reynir at some point--what must he think of her?

Reynir leaned in closer, a hint of liquor on his breath tickling her nose as he tentatively put his lips to hers, right as the trumpets blared. Tuuri didn’t care.

“’Twas a moment like this  
Do you remember?  
And your eyes threw a kiss  
When they met mine...”

Reynir broke the kiss at last, shifting Tuuri so that her head was lying against his chest, and all she could feel was a warm glow of happiness.

“Now we own all the stars  
And a million guitars  
Are still playing...”

The pompous windbag was glaring in Tuuri’s general direction, as though he suspected _her_ of arranging this disruption of the evening’s program, but Tuuri smiled dreamily back at him and let her eyes drift shut for the last bit of the number.

“Darling you are the song  
And you’ll always belong  
To my heart!”

Tuuri looked around again. “Where’s Marta?”

Kerttu smirked. “I’d imagine she’s kissing the guy who just serenaded her senseless--like you and Reynir a moment ago.”

“Huh?” Tuuri shook herself.

“Emil,” Lalli clarified, looking at her oddly. “He just sang to Marta, so they’re off somewhere smooching.”

“But... But...” Tuuri sputtered. She tried again. “But...”

Lalli grinned somewhat cattily. “Use your _words_ , Tuuri,” he sing-songed at her, as she had so many times to him when they were growing up.

“It’s your _favorite_ song!”

Lalli looked confused. “It’s also Marta’s. She has good taste.”

Tuuri opened her mouth again, but just gave up instead.

Kerttu took Lalli by the hand. “Come on, Lalli-cat. Let’s leave the lovebirds and make some music of our own.” Tuuri’s jaw dropped again when Lalli allowed her to lead him away.

“But... But...” Tuuri found herself sputtering again. “But...”

Then Reynir stoppered her mouth with his own, and she forgot what had been bothering her so much...


	8. Red Sigrun and the Five Öre

Malmö, Sweden  
1986

The clarinet felt heavy and awkward in his hands, but the others were all ready to go and watching him expectantly, so Emil fumbled with the mouthpiece for a moment longer to get the reed into _just_ the right position and then brought the instrument up to his lips.

With that, the “Malmö Musikers” were off, in their first jam session in probably twenty years, Sigrun and Mikkel letting forth mighty blasts on their trumpets, Reynir making his bull fiddle sing despite his arthritis-gnarled fingers, Tuuri pounding away at the drums and almost losing her coke-bottle glasses every few seconds, Lalli shifting effortlessly between xylophone, vibraphone and marimba, and Emil plugging away on his clarinet, a flute and a sax near to hand for him to switch to at need.

They were back at what had been Trond’s Place, which had changed owners and styles more times in the intervening years than Emil had cared to keep track of; the new owners had brought the old name and style back as a way to stand out from the crowd, and so they’d offered what seemed to Emil a truly obscene amount of money to get the Musikers back together.

Emil was actually making fewer mistakes than he’d feared, though _any_ were too many for his tastes; most of the audience looked like they didn’t know he was making any, though he knew that the others were catching each and every one, and especially Sigrun. Most of the audience probably didn’t know any real jazz pieces other than “Minnie the Moocher”, either, which was why they had started the set with it.

The audience applauded at the end of that piece, some politely, some enthusiastically, but the next piece actually brought some cheers along with the expected chuckles. Who knew that “The Flintstones” still had a Swedish fanbase? Heartened, the Musikers gave it their all, two octogenarians, two septuagenarians and two sexagenarians doing their best to put musicians half their ages to shame.

The applause was much more genuine this time around as the Musikers went into one of their old “bragging” numbers. Sigrun had started calling a few of their better numbers that after Mikkel had pointed out how each of them got to take the lead for a bit in them, instead of only showing off Sigrun, Emil, Lalli, or (much more rarely) Reynir. These were mostly their own “compositions”, born of late-night jam sessions caught on a creaky wire recorder and transcribed to sheet music by Mikkel and Tuuri; in the later days of the Musikers, Mancini had come out with some nice pieces which tended to give each part a chance to shine, but they were just too utterly _sixties_ for the Musikers.

Emil had forgotten just how _fun_ playing with the Musikers was when it was good like this; unfortunately, and especially at the end, it hadn’t always been good like this. Emil was a poor correspondent, but he’d written to the Hotakainens on a fairly regular basis, though most of the replies were from Tuuri alone. Emil glanced back at Lalli, who was thoroughly engrossed in his pit semi-solo.

The set ended with “Swinging on a Star”, another piece the Musikers could have done in their sleep; fortunately so, because they were all exhausted, most of them not having performed at all for a decade or more. Even so, they ended on a high note that kept them on a post-performance high long enough for them to take their bows and _slowly_ creak their way off the stage without incident—even Reynir, who had been leaning on his bull fiddle pretty heavily at the end.

Backstage, everything was mostly the same, too. There simply wasn’t enough room in the building to allow for an adequate set of dressing rooms, but the Musikers made do, as they always had. Unfortunately, their varying states of decrepitude meant “making do” required assistance from various family members shanghaied into helping them; this meant the dressing room was even more tightly packed than they remembered.

Emil was huffing and puffing, his wind not being what it once had been, so he only managed a faint “Sorry” when he got crushed up against Lalli, who let out an aggrieved “Mrh!” in response. Lalli was being aided by his daughter, Aino, while Emil’s grandson Emil, who was supposed to be helping his grandfather, stared at her in a particularly fatuous way. The elder Emil grunted at the folly of youth at the same time as Lalli did. They smiled at each other for a moment before Aino bustled Lalli out the back door to their waiting car…


End file.
